LUYỆN ĐỌC ANH NGỮ QUA CÁC TÁC PHẨM VĂN HỌC-THE THREE MUSKERTEERS ALEXANDRE DUMAS CHAPTER 28 pot

THE THREE MUSKERTEERS
ALEXANDRE DUMAS

CHAPTER 28

28. The Return
D’Artagnan was astounded by the terrible confidence of Athos; yet many things
appeared very obscure to him in this half revelation. In the first place it had
been made by a man quite drunk to one who was half drunk; and yet, in spite of
the incertainty which the vapor of three or four bottles of Burgundy carries with
it to the brain, D’Artagnan, when awaking on the following morning, had all the
words of Athos as present to his memory as if they then fell from his mouth
they had been so impressed upon his mind. All this doubt only gave rise to a
more lively desire of arriving at a certainty, and he went into his friend’s
chamber with a fixed determination of renewing the conversation of the
preceding evening; but he found Athos quite himself again that is to say, the
most shrewd and impenetrable of men. Besides which, the Musketeer, after
having exchanged a hearty shake of the hand with him, broached the matter
first.

“I was pretty drunk yesterday, D’Artagnan,” said he, “I can tell that by my
tongue, which was swollen and hot this morning, and by my pulse, which was
very tremulous. I wager that I uttered a thousand extravagances.”

While saying this he looked at his friend with an earnestness that embarrassed
him.

“No,” replied D’Artagnan, “if I recollect well what you said, it was nothing out
of the common way.”

“Ah, you surprise me. I thought I had told you a most lamentable story.” And he

looked at the young man as if he would read the bottom of his heart.

“My faith,” said D’Artagnan, “it appears that I was more drunk than you, since I
remember nothing of the kind.”

Athos did not trust this reply, and he resumed; “you cannot have failed to
remark, my dear friend, that everyone has his particular kind of drunkenness,
sad or gay. My drunkenness is always sad, and when I am thoroughly drunk my
mania is to relate all the lugubrious stories which my foolish nurse inculcated
into my brain. That is my failing a capital failing, I admit; but with that
exception, I am a good drinker.”

Athos spoke this in so natural a manner that D’Artagnan was shaken in his
conviction.

“It is that, then,” replied the young man, anxious to find out the truth, “it is that,
then, I remember as we remember a dream. We were speaking of hanging.”

“Ah, you see how it is,” said Athos, becoming still paler, but yet attempting to
laugh; “I was sure it was so the hanging of people is my nightmare.”

“Yes, yes,” replied D’Artagnan. “I remember now; yes, it was about stop a
minute yes, it was about a woman.”

“That’s it,” replied Athos, becoming almost livid; “that is my grand story of the
fair lady, and when I relate that, I must be very drunk.”

“Yes, that was it,” said D’Artagnan, “the story of a tall, fair lady, with blue
eyes.”

“Yes, who was hanged.”

“By her husband, who was a nobleman of your acquaintance,” continued
D’Artagnan, looking intently at Athos.

“Well, you see how a man may compromise himself when he does not know
what he says,” replied Athos, shrugging his shoulders as if he thought himself
an object of pity. “I certainly never will get drunk again, D’Artagnan; it is too
bad a habit.”

D’Artagnan remained silent; and then changing the conversation all at once,
Athos said:

“By the by, I thank you for the horse you have brought me.”

“Is it to your mind?” asked D’Artagnan.

“Yes; but it is not a horse for hard work.”

“You are mistaken; I rode him nearly ten leagues in less than an hour and a half,
and he appeared no more distressed than if he had only made the tour of the
Place St. Sulpice.”

“Ah, you begin to awaken my regret.”

“Regret?”

“Yes; I have parted with him.”

“How?”

“Why, here is the simple fact. This morning I awoke at six o’clock. You were
still fast asleep, and I did not know what to do with myself; I was still stupid
from our yesterday’s debauch. As I came into the public room, I saw one of our
Englishman bargaining with a dealer for a horse, his own having died yesterday
from bleeding. I drew near, and found he was bidding a hundred pistoles for a
chestnut nag. ‘Pardieu,’ said I, ‘my good gentleman, I have a horse to sell, too.’
‘Ay, and a very fine one! I saw him yesterday; your friend’s lackey was leading
him.’ ‘Do you think he is worth a hundred pistoles?’ ‘Yes! Will you sell him to
me for that sum?’ ‘No; but I will play for him.’ ‘What?’ ‘At dice.’ No sooner
said than done, and I lost the horse. Ah, ah! But please to observe I won back
the equipage,’ cried Athos.

D’Artagnan looked much disconcerted.

“This vexes you?” said Athos.

“Well, I must confess it does,” replied D’Artagnan. “That horse was to have
identified us in the day of battle. It was a pledge, a remembrance. Athos, you
have done wrong.”

“But, my dear friend, put yourself in my place,” replied the Musketeer. “I was
hipped to death; and still further, upon my honor, I don’t like English horses. If
it is only to be recognized, why the saddle will suffice for that; it is quite
remarkable enough. As to the horse, we can easily find some excuse for its
disappearance. Why the devil! A horse is mortal; suppose mine had had the
glanders or the farcy?”

D’Artagnan did not smile.

“It vexes me greatly,” continued Athos, “that you attach so much importance to
these animals, for I am not yet at the end of my story.”

“What else have you done.”

“After having lost my own horse, nine against ten see how near I formed an
idea of staking yours.”

“Yes; but you stopped at the idea, I hope?”

“No; for I put it in execution that very minute.”

“And the consequence?” said D’Artagnan, in great anxiety.

“I threw, and I lost.”

“What, my horse?”

“Your horse, seven against eight; a point short you know the proverb.”

“Athos, you are not in your right senses, I swear.”

“My dear lad, that was yesterday, when I was telling you silly stories, it was
proper to tell me that, and not this morning. I lost him then, with all his
appointments and furniture.”

“Really, this is frightful.”

“Stop a minute; you don’t know all yet. I should make an excellent gambler if I
were not too hot-headed; but I was hot- headed, just as if I had been drinking.

Well, I was not hot- headed then ”

“Well, but what else could you play for? You had nothing left?”

‘Oh, yes, my friend; there was still that diamond left which sparkles on your
finger, and which I had observed yesterday.”

“This diamond!” said D’Artagnan, placing his hand eagerly on his ring.

“And as I am a connoisseur in such things, having had a few of my own once, I
estimated it at a thousand pistoles.”

“I hope,” said D’Artagnan, half dead with fright, “you made no mention of my
diamond?”

“On the contrary, my dear friend, this diamond became our only resource; with
it I might regain our horses and their harnesses, and even money to pay our
expenses on the road.”

“Athos, you make me tremble!” cried D’Artagnan.

“I mentioned your diamond then to my adversary, who had likewise remarked
it. What the devil, my dear, do you think you can wear a star from heaven on
your finger, and nobody observe it? Impossible!”

“Go on, go on, my dear fellow!” said D’Artagnan; “for upon my honor, you will
kill me with your indifference.”

“We divided, then, this diamond into ten parts of a hundred pistoles each.”

“You are laughing at me, and want to try me!” said D’Artagnan, whom anger
began to take by the hair, as Minerva takes Achilles, in the illiad.

“No, I do not jest, mordieu! I should like to have seen you in my place! I had
been fifteen days without seeing a human face, and had been left to brutalize
myself in the company of bottles.”

“That was no reason for staking my diamond!” replied D’Artagnan, closing his
hand with a nervous spasm.

“Hear the end. Ten parts of a hundred pistoles each, in ten throws, without
revenge; in thirteen throws I had lost all in thirteen throws. The number
thirteen was always fatal to me; it was on the thirteenth of July that ”

“Ventrebleu!” cried D’Artagnan, rising from the table, the story of the present
day making him forget that of the preceding one.

“Patience!” said Athos; “I had a plan. The Englishman was an original; I had
seen him conversing that morning with Grimaud, and Grimaud had told me that
he had made him proposals to enter into his service. I staked Grimaud, the silent
Grimaud, divided into ten portions.”

“Well, what next?” said D’Artagnan, laughing in spite of himself.

“Grimaud himself, understand; and with the ten parts of Grimaud, which are not
worth a ducatoon, I regained the diamond. Tell me, now, if persistence is not a
virtue?”

“My faith! But this is droll,” cried D’Artagnan, consoled, and holding his sides
with laughter.

“You may guess, finding the luck turned, that I again staked the diamond.”

“The devil!” said D’Artagnan, becoming angry again.

“I won back your harness, then your horse, then my harness, then my horse, and
then I lost again. In brief, I regained your harness and then mine. That’s where
we are. That was a superb throw, so I left off there.”

D’Artagnan breathed as if the whole hostelry had been removed from his
breast.

“Then the diamond is safe?” said he, timidly.

“Intact, my dear friend; besides the harness of your Bucephalus and mine.”

“But what is the use of harnesses without horses?”

“I have an idea about them.”

“Athos, you make me shudder.”

“Listen to me. You have not played for a long time, D’Artagnan.”

“And I have no inclination to play.”

“Swear to nothing. You have not played for a long time, I said; you ought, then,
to have a good hand.”

“Well, what then?”

“Well; the Englishman and his companion are still here. I remarked that he
regretted the horse furniture very much. You appear to think much of your
horse. In your place I would stake the furniture against the horse.”

“But he will not wish for only one harness.”

“Stake both, pardieu! I am not selfish, as you are.”

“You would do so?” said D’Artagnan, undecided, so strongly did the confidence
of Athos begin to prevail, in spite of himself.

“On my honor, in one single throw.”

“But having lost the horses, I am particularly anxious to preserve the
harnesses.”

“Stake your diamond, then.”

“This? That’s another matter. Never, never!”

“The devil!” said Athos. “I would propose to you to stake Planchet, but as that
has already been done, the Englishman would not, perhaps, be willing.”

“Decidedly, my dear Athos,” said D’Artagnan, “I should like better not to risk
anything.”

“That’s a pity,” said Athos, cooly. “The Englishman is overflowing with
pistoles. Good Lord, try one throw! One throw is soon made!”

“And if I lose?”

“You will win.”

“But if I lose?”

“Well, you will surrender the harnesses.”

“Have with you for one throw!” said D’Artagnan.

Athos went in quest of the Englishman, whom he found in the stable, examining
the harnesses with a greedy eye. The opportunity was good. He proposed the
conditions the two harnesses, either against one horse or a hundred pistoles.
The Englishman calculated fast; the two harnesses were worth three hundred
pistoles. He consented.

D’Artagnan threw the dice with a trembling hand, and turned up the number
three; his paleness terrified Athos, who, however, consented himself with
saying, “That’s a sad throw, comrade; you will have the horses fully equipped,
monsieur.”

The Englishman, quite triumphant, did not even give himself the trouble to
shake the dice. He threw them on the table without looking at them, so sure was
he of victory; D’Artagnan turned aside to conceal his ill humor.

“Hold, hold, hold!” said Athos, wit his quiet tone; “that throw of the dice is
extraordinary. I have not seen such a one four times in my life. Two aces!”

The Englishman looked, and was seized with astonishment. D’Artagnan looked,
and was seized with pleasure.

“Yes,” continued Athos, “four times only; once at the house of Monsieur
Créquy; another time at my own house in the country, in my château at when I
had a château; a third time at Monsieur de Tréville’s where it surprised us all;
and the fourth time at a cabaret, where it fell to my lot, and where I lost a
hundred louis and a supper on it.”

“Then Monsieur takes his horse back again,” said the Englishman.

“Certainly,” said D’Artagnan.

“Then there is no revenge?”

“Our conditions said, ‘No revenge,’ you will please to recollect.”

“That is true; the horse shall be restored to your lackey, monsieur.”

“A moment,” said Athos; “with your permission, monsieur, I wish to speak a
word with my friend.”

“Say on.”

Athos drew D’Artagnan aside.

“Well, Tempter, what more do you want with me?” said D’Artagnan. “You
want me to throw again, do you not?”

“No, I would wish you to reflect.”

“On what?”

“You mean to take your horse?”

“Without doubt.”

“You are wrong, then. I would take the hundred pistoles. You know you have
staked the harnesses against the horse or a hundred pistoles, at your choice.”

“Yes.”

“Well, then, I repeat, you are wrong. What is the use of one horse for us two? I
could not ride behind. We should look like the two sons of Anmon, who had
lost their brother. You cannot think of humiliating me by prancing along by my
side on that magnificent charger. For my part, I should not hesitate a moment; I
should take the hundred pistoles. We want money for our return to Paris.”

“I am much attached to that horse, Athos.”

“And there again you are wrong. A horse slips and injures a joint; a horse
stumbles and breaks his knees to the bone; a horse eats out of a manger in which
a glandered horse has eaten. There is a horse, while on the contrary, the hundred
pistoles feed their master.”

“But how shall we get back?”

“Upon our lackey’s horses, pardieu. Anybody may see by our bearing that we
are people of condition.”

“Pretty figures we shall cut on ponies while Aramis and Porthos caracole on
their steeds.”

“Aramis! Porthos!” cried Athos, and laughed aloud.

“What is it?” asked D’Artagnan, who did not at all comprehend the hilarity of
his friend.

“Nothing, nothing! Go on!”

“Your advice, then?”

“To take the hundred pistoles, D’Artagnan. With the hundred pistoles we can
live well to the end of the month. We have undergone a great deal of fatigue,
remember, and a little rest will do no harm.”

“I rest? Oh, no, Athos. Once in Paris, I shall prosecute my search for that
unfortunate woman!”

“Well, you may be assured that your horse will not be half so serviceable to you
for that purpose as good golden louis. Take the hundred pistoles, my friend; take
the hundred pistoles!”

D’Artagnan only required one reason to be satisfied. This last reason appeared
convincing. Besides, he feared that by resisting longer he should appear selfish
in the eyes of Athos. He acquiesced, therefore, and chose the hundred pistoles,
which the Englishman paid down on the spot.

They then determined to depart. Peace with the landlord, in addition to Athos’s
old horse, cost six pistoles. D’Artagnan and Athos took the nags of Planchet and
Grimaud, and the two lackeys started on foot, carrying the saddles on their
heads.

However ill our two friends were mounted, they were soon far in advance of
their servants, and arrived at Creveccoeur. From a distance they perceived
Aramis, seated in a melancholy manner at his window, looking out, like Sister
Anne, at the dust in the horizon.

“Hola, Aramis! What the devil are you doing there?” cried the two friends.

“Ah, is that you, D’Artagnan, and you, Athos?” said the young man. “I was
reflecting upon the rapidity with which the blessings of this world leave us. My
English horse, which has just disappeared amid a cloud of dust, has furnished
me with a living image of the fragility of the things of the earth. Life itself may
be resolved into three words: erat, est, fuit.”

“Which means ” said D’Artagnan, who began to suspect the truth.

“Which means that I have just been duped sixty louis for a horse which by the
manner of his gait can do at least five leagues an hour.”

D’Artagnan and Athos laughed aloud.

“My dear D’Artagnan,” said Aramis, “don’t be too angry with me, I beg.
Necessity has no law; besides, I am the person punished, as that rascally
horsedealer has robbed me of fifty louis, at least. Ah, you fellows are good
managers! You ride on our lackey’s horses, and have your own gallant steeds
led along carefully by hand, at short stages.”

At the same instant a market cart, which some minutes before had appeared
upon the Amiens road, pulled up at the inn, and Planchet and Grimaud came out
of it with the saddles on their heads. The cart was returning empty to Paris, and

the two lackeys had agreed, for their transport, to slake the wagoner’s thirst
along the route.

“What is this?” said Aramis, on seeing them arrive. “Nothing but saddles?”

“Now do you understand?” said Athos.

“My friends, that’s exactly like me! I retained my harness by instinct. Hola,
Bazin! Bring my new saddle and carry it along with those of these gentlemen.”

“And what have you done with your ecclesiastics?” asked D’Artagnan.

“My dear fellow, I invited them to a dinner the next day,” replied Aramis.
“They have some capital wine here-please to observe that in passing. I did my
best to make them drunk. Then the curate forbade me to quit my uniform, and
the Jesuit entreated me to get him made a Musketeer.”

“Without a thesis?” cried D’Artagnan, “without a thesis? I demand the
suppression of the thesis.”

“Since then,” continued Aramis, “I have lived very agreeably. I have begun a
poem in verses of one syllable. That is rather difficult, but the merit in all things
consists in the difficulty. The matter is gallant. I will read you the first canto. It
has four hundred lines, and lasts a minute.”

“My faith, my dear Aramis,” said D’Artagnan, who detested verses almost as
much as he did Latin, “add to the merit of the difficulty that of the brevity, and
you are sure that your poem will at least have two merits.”

“You will see,” continued Aramis, “that it breathes irreproachable passion. And

so, my friends, we return to Paris? Bravo! I am ready. We are going to rejoin
that good fellow, Porthos. So much the better. You can’t think how I have
missed him, the great simpleton. To see him so self-satisfied reconciles me with
myself. He would not sell his horse; not for a kingdom! I think I can see him
now, mounted upon his superb animal and seated in his handsome saddle. I am
sure he will look like the Great Mogul!”

They made a halt for an hour to refresh their horses. Aramis discharged his bill,
placed Bazin in the cart with his comrades, and they set forward to join
Porthos.

They found him up, less pale than when D’Artagnan left him after his first visit,
and seated at a table on which, though he was alone, was spread enough for four
persons. This dinner consisted of meats nicely dressed, choice wines, and
superb fruit.

“Ah, pardieu!” said he, rising, “you come in the nick of time, gentlemen. I was
just beginning the soup, and you will dine with me.”

“Oh, oh!” said D’Artagnan, “Mousqueton has not caught these bottles with his
lasso. Besides, here is a piquant fricandeau and a fillet of beef.”

“I am recruiting myself,” said Porthos, “I am recruiting myself. Nothing
weakens a man more than these devilish strains. Did you ever suffer from a
strain, Athos?”

“Never! Though I remember, in our affair of the Rue Férue, I received a sword
wound which at the end of fifteen or eighteen days produced the same effect.”

“But this dinner was not intended for you alone, Porthos?” said Aramis.

“No,” said Porthos, “I expected some gentlemen of the neighborhood, who have
just sent me word they could not come. You will take their places and I shall not
lose by the exchange. Hola, Mousqueton, seats, and order double the bottles!”

“Do you know what we are eating here?” said Athos, at the end of ten minutes.

“Pardieu!” replied D’Artagnan, “for my part, I am eating veal garnished with
shrimps and vegetables.”

“And I some lamb chops,” said Porthos.

“And I a plain chicken,” said Aramis.

“You are all mistaken, gentlemen,” answered Athos, gravely; “you are eating
horse.”

“Eating what?” said D’Artagnan.

“Horse!” said Aramis, with a grimace of disgust.

Porthos alone made no reply.

“Yes, horse. Are we not eating a horse, Porthos? And perhaps his saddle,
therewith.”

“No, gentlemen, I have kept the harness,” said Porthos.

“My faith,” said Aramis, “we are all alike. One would think we had tipped the
wink.”

“What could I do?” said Porthos. “This horse made my visitors ashamed of
theirs, and I don’t like to humiliate people.”

“Then your duchess is still at the waters?” asked D’Artagnan.

“Still,” replied Porthos. “And, my faith, the governor of the province one of the
gentlemen I expected today seemed to have such a wish for him, that I gave
him to him.”

“Gave him?” cried D’Artagnan.

“My God, yes, gave, that is the word,” said Porthos; “for the animal was worth
at least a hundred and fifty louis, and the stingy fellow would only give me
eighty.”

“Without the saddle?” said Aramis.

“Yes, without the saddle.”

“You will observe, gentlemen,” said Athos, “that Porthos has made the best
bargain of any of us.”

And then commenced a roar of laughter in which they all joined, to the
astonishment of poor Porthos; but when he was informed of the cause of their
hilarity, he shared it vociferously according to his custom.

“There is one comfort, we are all in cash,” said D’Artagnan.

“Well, for my part,” said Athos, “I found Aramis’s Spanish wine so good that I

sent on a hamper of sixty bottles of it in the wagon with the lackeys. That has
weakened my purse.”

“And I,” said Aramis, “imagined that I had given almost my last sou to the
church of Montdidier and the Jesuits of Amiens, with whom I had made
engagements which I ought to have kept. I have ordered Masses for myself, and
for you, gentlemen, which will be said, gentlemen, for which I have not the least
doubt you will be marvelously benefited.”